


Informant

by QuestionableGentleman



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Dubious Consent, Fake AH Crew, Jon fucked up, M/M, Minor Knife Play, Reporter Jon, Ryan's a little evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 00:06:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11451876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuestionableGentleman/pseuds/QuestionableGentleman
Summary: Jon is an informant for the Fake AH Crew, and he fucked up. The Crew doesn't like being screwed. So they send their best to teach Jon a lesson.





	1. One

Jon was sure he was going to die. He froze in place at the end of the warehouse, nearly dropping his file. He knew he couldn’t leave, though. If he left, he knew he’d be dead. The Fake AH Crew was relying on him for information. He’d been working as an informant for them for a while, but this was different. He felt like he was out of his depth. When he’d gotten the message telling him to bring the information to an empty warehouse at the edge of Los Santos, he’d been wary. He’d wondered if he’d fucked up somehow. Now he was sure of it. 

Normally his meetings were in a shady bar, and he was usually meeting with the smooth talking Golden Boy, or the loud and abrasive Mogar. Sometimes, depending on the sensitivity of his information, they’d just send one of their many minions to collect the file. Now, the reporter found himself staring down the warehouse at an imposing figure. Tall, broad-shouldered, and masked, Jon knew the Vagabond’s form well. He’d only seen him once, in the back of a bar run by the Crew, but he knew him immediately. 

Jon knew there was only one reason they’d send the Vagabond alone to meet him in an abandoned warehouse. He’d somehow fucked up, and now he was going to end up a mangled corpse. He knew it’d be worse if he ran, though. Slowly, he forced his legs to move, across the concrete floor and towards the killer. The Vagabond didn’t say anything as Jon drew near, just watching him through the mask. 

Taking a deep breath, Jon offered the file. His hand was shaking and he was sure that the other man could sense his fear. He tried to keep a tremor out of his voice when he spoke. “Here’s the information your boss requested. All the dates and times for money transfer to the new bank.” 

The Vagabond just watched him for a moment that seemed like eternity, before taking the file. “Are you sure this information is accurate? The boss isn’t too happy with you right now, Risinger.” 

Jon’s heart dropped into his gut at the words. The man’s voice was deep, sinister, and Jon had to resist the urge to bolt. “If I gave bad information, I’m sorry. I had no idea. It won’t happen again. I swear.” 

He started to inch backwards, knowing that if push came to shove, running would be his only chance, and even then he wasn’t hopeful. He knew all of the stories of the Vagabond’s killing prowess. He’d written some of them. 

“I know it won’t. The boss sent me here to make sure it won’t.” A wicked looking knife slid out of a sheath, and Jon took his chance. 

Turning on his heel, chest tight and mind racing, Jon ran, sprinting down the long warehouse. He could hear heavy footsteps behind him and a maniacal laugh filled the still air. Jon’s blood chilled in his veins as he slammed into the door, fumbling with the knob. A deep dread welled up in him as he found it locked, and he whipped around, ready to dodge and run again, try and find another exit, when the Vagabond’s large body slammed into him, driving all the air out of his lungs. 

Jon’s vision blurred, and he gasped for breath, trying to plead as he felt cold metal against his neck. “Please.. Ah.. Please.. I won’t… won’t fuck up again. Gimme a chance.” 

The Vagabond loomed over him, trapping him against the door with his knife and a strong gloved hand against his shoulder. A rumbling laugh sounded deep in his chest as he heard the reporter’s pleas. He looked coolly over him from behind his mask, and Jon could feel his piercing eyes. 

“Just don’t kill me, please. I’ll get good info, I swear.” Jon’s chest was heaving as he caught his breath, staring up at the impassive mask above him. He knew the stories. He knew the Vagabond was merciless. Would kill for less than this. Much less. The silence was unnerving, and Jon was sure that the Vagabond could hear his panicked heartbeat. 

“Oh, I’m not here to kill you. The boss thinks you’re too valuable to dispose of right now. I can see why, too.” The tip of the knife traced up along Jon’s neck, just hard enough to leave a faint red line, making his skin tingle. The cool metal trailed up along his jaw, and traced one of his sharp cheekbones. “But, I do have to make sure you don’t give us bad info again. The boss has left it up to me how to do that.” 

Jon stopped breathing as the knife’s tip trailed around one of his eyes, and he held as still as possible, watching it until it moved away, back down his neck. He pulled his eyes back up to look at the Vagabond’s mask, his heart starting to beat again. “What… what are you going to do to me?” 

He knew about the Vagabond’s torture methods. He’d seen the photos. He wondered for a moment if dying would be better. He stiffened a little as the knife trailed down his chest, slipping down his sternum, catching slightly on his cardigan, and trailing further down his abs. 

“I haven’t decided yet.” 

That answer was worse than anything Jon’s brain could come up with, and he was about to speak again, try and beg for a little mercy, when the knife suddenly ripped upwards. A yelp ripped itself out of Jon’s lips as fabric tore and cardigan buttons scattered across the floor. His body trembled slightly as his torso was revealed to the cool, dry air of the warehouse, and even with the mask, Jon could feel the Vagabond’s eyes raking over him. His vivid imagination could see that sharp knife digging into his pale skin. Rearranging his insides. 

“I- I’ll do anything. Just don’t hurt me. Please.” 

Another deep chuckle made Jon tremble, and the knife was suddenly tossed aside. A tinge of confused relief rushed through the reporter, but only for a moment, as the Vagabond’s muscled forearm pressed across his neck, holding him in place. It wasn’t enough to cut off his breathing, but a new wave of terror made Jon’s eyes widen. The killer leaned in, mask frighteningly close to the side of his face. 

“They weren’t lying when they told me you were a pretty boy, Risinger. All that hair. Pouty lips.” His voice was a deep purr. 

Jon stared in confusion, heart hammering hard against his ribs. Why was the Vagabond complimenting his looks? What was he going to do? The arm across his throat moved, and Jon let out a little yelp as the leather-gloved hand ran over his exposed chest, thumbing over one of his nipples. 

“What-?”

“Shhhhh.” Jon felt a rush of hot breath against his ear, and he looked up again. He’d been so distracted by the hand on his chest that he didn’t notice the Vagabond removing his mask. He stared, mouth going dry. 

The Vagabond had a strong jaw, covered in stubble, long, dyed-black hair, and piercing blue eyes. Jon wondered momentarily how many others had seen that face unmasked and lived. He kept his mouth shut, just staring at him. The killer leaned in again, breath warm against Jon’s neck. Surprisingly soft lips pressed against the skin there, and something clicked in Jon’s brain. 

Oh. Oh. His realization was confirmed by the Vagabond’s next words. 

“I’m going to fuck you. If you can make it good, put on a show for me, you’ll get out of here in one piece.”


	2. Two

“I’m going to fuck you. If you can make it good, put on a show for me, you’ll get out of here in one piece.” 

Jon’s eyes widened, and his heart skipped a few beats. He didn’t have time to give a response before he was being dragged over the Vagabond’s shoulder, carried briskly back over to the table and chairs at the back of the warehouse. Jon let out a cry as he was tossed unceremoniously onto the table, head spinning at the sudden movement. 

“Relax,” the Vagabond commanded. He gripped Jon’s jeans, yanking them off along with his boxers, tossing them to one side. 

Jon’s immediate reaction was to move to cover himself, cheeks flushing red and legs snapping shut. “Hey! 

A dangerous gleam shone in the Vagabond’s eyes and he snatched Jon’s wrists, pinning them above his head with one strong hand. He bent over him, his mouth pressed against Jon’s neck again, though this time there were teeth. “Shh. Relax. This will go easier if you relax. Close your eyes and pretend you’re somewhere else.” 

The Vagabond’s voice was deep and sultry, and despite his fear, that voice did something to Jon. He could feel himself getting aroused, from that silky voice and the weight and heat of the criminal’s body above him, and the nipping kisses being pressed to his neck. He wanted to fight. To say he didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be fucked on a table in a warehouse by a ruthless killer. His body betrayed him, though, and he knew that the Vagabond could feel it. 

Pulling back slightly, the killer looked him over, a sinister grin twisting his lips. He pulled off his leather gloves, tossing them aside, and his jacket followed quickly, revealing a muscled chest and arms under a white tee. Jon stared, breath hitching. He knew this man could snap him in half without a second thought, and something about that was turning him on to no end. He knew he’d have to take a good long look at his life after this was over. 

One of the Vagabond’s hands slipped down along Jon’s abs, and down, stroking him slowly. A little moan escaped the reporter, and his head tipped back. The killer’s touches were surprisingly gentle for a moment. Almost tender. A low growl escaped the man’s lips, and suddenly, Jon found himself being flipped over, hips dragged back. A noise of surprise escaped him, and his cheeks flushed an even darker red as the Vagabond ran a hand over the curve of his bare ass. 

“Mm… You’re gorgeous.” The Vagabond’s fingers dipped down and rubbed against Jon’s hole, and he grinned as the reporter jerked forward slightly. “You haven’t done this before, have you?” 

“What, anal sex, or getting banged by a killer in a warehouse?” Jon couldn’t help the sass slipping past his lips, and he immediately regretted it, fully expecting some kind of pain to follow. 

A deep chuckle came from behind, and Jon jolted a little as he felt the Vagabond squeeze his ass roughly. He didn’t speak, and Jon glanced over his shoulder when he didn’t feel anything for a moment. The Vagabond knelt down between Jon’s legs, pulling his hips back. 

“What.. what are you..?” Jon’s words were cut off by a moan as he felt the Vagabond’s hot tongue lick over his hole. 

Without preamble, the killer started licking him open, making Jon’s thighs tremble. Jon’s head spun. He’d never felt anything like this, and he gripped the edge of the table. Pleasure jolted through him, and he couldn’t help the noises falling from his lips. The Vagabond loved the noises the reporter was making, grinning slightly, and gently slipping in a finger alongside his tongue. The noise it elicited made his cock twitch in the confines of his pants, and he thrust his finger gently, searching for that sweet spot. 

Jon had fingered himself before on many occasions, but nothing felt like this. The Vagabond’s fingers were rough, thicker than his own, and he seemed to know all of the right spots to hit to make Jon shake. The second finger opening him up punched a little moan out of his lips, and he arched back, grinding his hips slightly. A cackle escaped the Vagabond’s lips, and he pushed a third finger in. 

The stretch burned, and Jon gripped the table. Even with the killer tonguing him in the best way, the quick stretching ached. He could sense the Vagabond getting impatient, and he spread his legs slightly. 

“Vagabond… Please. Fuck. I’m ready.” He knew he should let him stretch him more, but he didn’t want to keep him waiting. 

The killer stood slowly, thrusting his fingers a few more times before pulling them out.. Hearing his name from the reporter’s pretty lips tipped him over the edge. He grinned, undoing his pants and pushing them down just enough to release his large cock. He ground up against Jon’s ass, leaning over him, covering him with his larger body. 

“Hold on tight, Risinger,” he growled, lining himself up and pressing slowly into Jon. 

A cry escaped the reporter’s lips, and his legs buckled slightly. God, the Vagabond was big. His body was big, and his cock was big as well, and his body trembled at the stretch. It ached in an amazing way, the head of that thick cock pressing up against his sweet spot. He was glad that the killer stopped to let him adjust for a moment. 

“I-I’m ready. Move. Please.” 

The Vagabond grinned, gripping Jon’s hips, starting to thrust into him. He didn’t bother starting slow, hips pounding forward into the reporter’s tight heat. Watching that lean body squirm under him, back arching and long hair tossed back was one of the best things he’d ever seen, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to give it up. 

Jon panted heavily, head dropping forward with a thud onto the table, body shaking as the Vagabond rutted into him hard and fast. Every thrust hit his prostate, and jolted his body forward. He knew he wouldn’t last long, and his thighs shook. 

“Vagabond… Vagabond…” the name escaped him like a mantra, eyes squeezing shut. 

“Ryan.” The killer’s voice rumbled in his ear, “Moan that for me.” 

The reporter’s eyes opened a bit, and his heart skipped a vew beats. Now he knew the Vagabond’s real name, and moan it he did. The name escaped his lips with each thrust. He didn’t last long. Without even being touched, he came hard, painting the edge of the table, a cry tearing itself out of his throat. 

Ryan grinned as he watched Jon’s back arch, head tossed back. He knew he wouldn’t last long either, thrusting only a few more times before coming hard inside Jon with a rough groan, leaning down onto him and biting the joint of his neck and shoulder. He left a mark, sucking a dark bruise onto Jon’s pale skin, before pulling out of him. 

Jon panted heavily, resting his forehead on the table. He felt Ryan pulling out of him, and he glanced up over his shoulder. He watched the Vagabond doing up his pants again and pulling on his jacket. He turned around slowly to watch him as he caught his breath. 

Ryan looked over at him as he donned his gloves, a little grin on his face. “You’re safe for now, Risinger. And we’ll be doing that again.” 

Jon was about to ask what he meant, but Ryan was gone, out the warehouse door and into the night. All the reporter could do was lean back, wondering if he was crazy for absolutely wanting to do it again.

**Author's Note:**

> Song of the Fic: "Killer" by the Hoosiers


End file.
